Undercover
by Zephyrus-Prime
Summary: Tired of being a desk jockey and desperately searching for an assignment far away from his romantic troubles, Harry Potter takes an undercover assignment in Roanapur. There, he finds that life is short, violent, and ever so fun.
1. Red Aviary

**Undercover****  
><strong>A Zephyrus Production

**A/N**: Well, True Believers. Been a while, hasn't it? This is one of several stories that I've got saved on my hard drive. I'm trying to find the inspiration to write again and possibly finish some old projects. As always, let me know what you think and help me rediscover my muse!

**Summary**: Tired of being a desk jockey and desperately searching for an assignment far away from his romantic troubles, Harry Potter takes an undercover assignment in Roanapur. There, he finds that life is short, violent, and ever so fun.

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Black Lagoon. Pity.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter 0: Red Aviary<strong>

Harry Potter sighed and checked his watch for what must have been the fiftieth time in the last half hour.

His transportation was late. Over an hour late.

Folding his arms in an irritated manner, he leaned against a wooden crate, glaring at the horizon. Here he was, stuck on the pier of some godsforsaken little island, waiting for a boat that would tow him into Hell on Earth. The view of the sea, a shimmering azure under a tropical sun, might have been beautiful at any other time. As it was, his enjoyment of his current exotic locale was dampened by his irritation.

He checked his watch yet again, noting with frustration that precisely two minutes had passed since he last looked.

Banging his head against the crate, he stared up at the sky, counting the wispy clouds that floated above as he recalled what had led him to cooling his heels on this dirty little pier.

* * *

><p><em>"Harry Potter, Senior Auror, Second Class, Defender of the Ministry, Chosen One, Gryffindor Golden Boy, and Giver of Wet Dreams to Women and Men alike is cowed by mere paperwork." Kingsley Shacklebolt chuckled, his deep voice rumbling throughout Harry's office. "Never thought I'd see the day."<em>

_Harry looked up from his current paperwork, battle potion requisition forms for the squads under his jurisdiction, and glared at the intruder. He jabbed his quill in a menacing manner toward the Head Auror._

_"Just because you're my boss doesn't mean I won't kill you in a fit of pique. These instruments of torture," and here Harry indicated the three towers of paperwork leaning precariously against one another on his desk, "are about to drive me mad."_

_Kingsley held up his hands in a placating gesture of surrender, still chuckling. He stepped through the doorway, closing it behind him with an absentminded wave of his hand. He sat down in one of the two purple plush chairs in front of the desk._

_"Sometimes I think you'd rather take on You-Know-Who again than tackle that paperwork."_

_Harry grimaced and flung his quill into its inkwell. Leaning back, he grunted slightly as he stretched his arms over his head._

_"Too right," he readily agreed. "Who would have thought that being an Auror was so much bloody work?"_

_Kingsley leaned back in the chair, getting comfortable. It was no secret that the Head Auror preferred Harry's office to his own, due to Harry's good taste in comfortable furniture. "I seriously considered resigning from my first promotion years ago because of all of the extra paperwork involved. It seems like the higher you rise in the ranks, the more time you end up spending behind a desk."_

_"At this rate, I'll be ready to do third shift beats for the rest of my career." Harry grinned slightly as Shacklebolt shuddered in remembrance of his own days as a rookie working the night shift._

_"I could probably arrange that." The older man smiled._

_Harry picked up his wand and flicked it behind his shoulder at the small cherry cabinet in the back of the room. "I believe that your visit to my dark and dank dungeon calls for a drink."_

_Two crystal glasses and a decanter filled with a warmly glowing amber liquid floated out of the cabinet's depths, over Harry's head, and settled themselves on his desk._

_He filled each glass with two mouthfuls and floated one of them to Shacklebolt. The older man shook his head in wonder after inhaling the sweet and spicy scent of the drink. "Greek Ambrosia. I'd love to know how you got your hands on this, Potter. One bottle of this is worth at least half a year's salary for me. I know for a fact that a mere Second Class like yourself would have to beggar himself for a single taste."_

_Harry winked and took a small sip, enjoying the feeling of warmth and light spreading from his stomach to the rest of his body. "Let's just say that a man in Scotland owes me a favor for clearing out a nest or two of harpies."_

_"I heard about that. No doubt Wood is grateful to you for chasing off of his more ardent female admirers." Shacklebolt grinned slyly. "You know, there's some overtime pay in it for you if you could get rid of my own little harpy problem."_

_"Not for all the gold in Gringotts would I even think of going near that horrible woman you call your girlfriend."_

_Shacklebolt laughed and took a sip. Both men sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying the outrageously expensive drink._

_Shacklebolt eyed his glass regretfully when it was empty. Harry raised his eyebrow questioningly, shaking his own empty glass in invitation, but his boss shook his head. Harry shrugged and sent the glasses and the decanter back into the cabinet. Social niceties satisfied, the Head Auror got down to business. "Harry, I have a new assignment for you."_

_An eager look washed over Harry's face and he opened his mouth—_

_Shacklebolt hastily held up a hand to forestall what was no doubt Harry's immediate acceptance. "Hear me out, Potter. This is a dangerous assignment and I don't want you to agree to anything without hearing all the details first. A friend of mine in Thailand has called in a favor and I agreed to speak to you on his behalf."_

_Shacklebolt steepled his hands in front of his face, a grim look on his features. "My colleague is probably what you'd consider my official counterpart in Thailand. Their Ministry is in a very rough spot right now. They have their hands full cooperating with the Muggle government in a joint operation to tamp down on muggle and wizard piracy and terrorism."_

_"What, you mean wizards and muggles are working together down there?" Harry was astonished._

_Shacklebolt nodded an affirmative. "No one knows exactly who made contact with whom first, but about eight years ago, they began seeing signs of magical tampering on weapons and ships. Over the years, the signs of magical involvement have gotten more and more obvious. Killing Curses used in assassinations on muggle government officials, shield charms designed to protect pirates from small arms fire, and even Muggle Repelling charms to keep their bases and camps hidden from the Thai Navy."_

_"That's ridiculous! Why hasn't the Thailand Ministry tracked the wizards responsible and tossed them in prison yet?! It won't be too long before the Statue of Secrecy is blown to hell."_

_"They know that." Shacklebolt replied tersely. "Obliviator Squads are being worked around the clock, but they're too few and spread too thin. These people, whoever they are, are growing bolder with each successive strike they make. Even the general muggle population is starting to see that something is going on. If these people aren't stopped, we could have an international catastrophe on our hands. Possibly even a war between muggles and wizards."_

_Harry slumped back in his chair, mind whirling at the impossible situation. "There has to be someone organizing them. Wizards and muggles wouldn't coordinate their actions together on their own initiative."_

_Shacklebolt half-shrugged. "I agree with you and so does my friend. Unfortunately, no one of any great importance has been caught, so nothing has been confirmed either way. A few muggles have been brought in, but they were nothing but ignorant grunts. All we have is a name of the organization: Red Aviary."_

_"Why me? I mean, if the entire Auror division in Thailand hasn't been able to make any headway for eight years, what makes your friend think that I'll do any better than they?"_

_"The Thai government, both magical and muggle, is hampered with rampant corruption, incompetence, and plain stupidity. My friend can barely work with what he has. You're the best Auror in the Corps, Harry. I believe that you're as good as Moody ever was in his prime, maybe even better. If anyone can help them out, it's you."_

_Harry's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "So what, your friend wants the Great Harry Potter to take down an entire organization of dark wizards and muggle pirates all by his lonesome?"_

_"He's not asking you to. All he needs you to do is infiltrate a suspected Red Aviary hotspot, get him some names, some hard evidence, and then he can move." Shacklebolt looked Harry straight in the eye. "I passed the word along to Minister Weasley. Arthur agrees with me on how important this is. He knows how bad this could get for all of us if our world isn't pulled out of its current collision course with the muggle world. He's also of the opinion that you're the best man for an infiltration op."_

_Silence reigned once more, broken only by Harry's fingers tapping slowly on the top of the desk._

_"How long?" He suddenly asked._

_"Pardon?" Shacklebolt's brows furrowed at the abruptness of the question._

_"How long will I be gone?"_

_Slightly confused, the other man replied, "A month is a conservative estimate, I should think. Could be less, could be more, depending on—"_

_"I'll do it."_

_Shacklebolt studied Harry for a moment, noting the bags under his eyes and the slightly strained air about him, belying his previous jolly persona._

_"Don't let your personal life interfere with your decisions, Potter. Whatever is going on between you and—"_

_"I need time to think about the whole situation, sir." Harry quietly replied. "Sitting behind this desk isn't helping me one bit. You and Mr. Weasley both think I can do this and I agree."_

_His superior reluctantly nodded in acquiescence. "Very well. I'll trust your judgment."_

_Shacklebolt stood up, delving into his robes for a small stack of folded papers and tossing them in front of Harry. "Read up, Potter. You're headed to mainland Thailand on Friday to be briefed by my colleague. From there, you'll be ferried to an island on the west coast."_

_"Does this place have a name?" Harry asked dryly as he opened the papers and began skimming through them._

_Kingsley paused with his hand on the doorknob and looked over his shoulder. "The city is called Roanapur, I think. It's all in the papers. Just familiarize yourself with the content and be ready to go." He swept out and closed the door behind him._

_"Ro-an-a-pur." Harry tasted the unfamiliar word haltingly. He decided that he liked the sound of it._

_A distant puttering brought Harry out of his reminisces. He shielded his his eyes with his hands and squinted out into the ocean._

_A small junk grew quickly on the horizon, a few intermittent puffs of black smoke from the engine charting its progress. Harry grumbled to himself, cursing under his breath as he adjusted his tie and straighted his suit as best he could. He bent down and picked up his briefcase just as the junk came alongside the pier, right in front of him. A short, wizened old man wearing a straw hat stuck his head out from beneath the canopy and peered up at Harry.  
><em>

* * *

><p>"Harrhy Pottah?"<p>

"You're late." Harry growled.

The old man shrugged. "Thai Navy boat wondah what fishing boat doing so far from fish. Ask many questions. Had to lie lots. Lies take time."

In response, Harry dropped the couple of feet down to the deck of the boat, making it rock gently in the water. He set down his briefcase and reached into the inside of his jacket. He pulled out a freshly bound stack of American dollars. He tossed it to the old man.

"We agreed on five thousand in dollars. Half now, half when we're there."

The old man sniffed the stack once and quickly ran his thumb over the end of it, keeping one eye on Harry all the while. Seemingly satisfied, he nodded and the bills disappeared into the pockets of the old man's trousers.

"Get comfy, English. Halfa day's ride to Roanapur."

Harry sat down on a bench next to his briefcase as the old man scurried back to the motor. Within a few minutes, they were out of the harbor and headed to sea. Harry leaned against the railing of the little junk, twisting around to watch the sunlight glimmer on the waves. To his surprise, the water was so clear that he could see a good 20 to 30 feet beneath the surface. The seabed flashed by far too quickly for him to make out any details, but the glimpses he caught of the reefs and the colorful fish made him smile. Maybe this job would be a little more fun than he had thought.

A good portion of the day later, with evening bleeding into twilight, the city came into sight. Harry stood up, one hand gripping the top of the canopy, and eyed the towering Buddha statue with awe. Even though a good portion of the face was ravaged by time and the weather, it was still an impressive sight. The old man shouted something as they passed by, but Harry couldn't make it out.

The junk came along the side of a dock and the old man looked surprisingly spry for his age as he climbed out of the boat and secured it.

The old man accepted the other half of his payment and insincerely wished Harry good luck with a toothy grin. Harry tightened his grip on his briefcase and ventured deeper into the city.

Though Mr. Chanarong had given Harry a rather thorough briefing on what he could expect, it still didn't quite prepare him for the air of lawlessness that fair radiated from the city streets. He idly walked up the main street that ran straight through the middle of the island, keeping a wary eye on his surroundings.

The sharp crack of gunshots made him jump slightly, but he forced himself to relax. The feel of his wand tucked into its holster on his right arm reassured him somewhat. No muggle gun could harm an alert and properly prepared wizard.

Everywhere he looked, the scum of the earth loitered on the sidewalks and in the doorways. Two men of Latino origin were screaming at each other in Spanish in front of a laundry facility. One rat faced little man approached and offered him some baggies filled with a white powdery substance. He scuttled away at Harry's cold refusal.

Night was when Roanapur truly came into its own. Prostitution, smuggling, drugs, guns, slavery, this town had it all. You could buy anything your heart desired if you knew where to look.

He ignored the catcalls of the women standing on just about every corner down main street, though some of their suggestions and promises made the tops of his ears and his cheeks flush lightly. Not even the ladies of the night in England had been so lewd!

At the moment, all Harry wanted was a stiff drink and a place to lay his head. His real work would begin tomorrow.

He decided to ask one of the locals for directions and stepped up beside the most likely looking fellow; a tall, stocky man in a black suit similar to what Harry himself wore. He eyed Harry with some curiosity as he approached.

"Pardon me, but could you point a stranger in the direction of the nearest pub?" Harry smiled courteously.

The man didn't say a word. After a moment, he reached into his jacket, causing Harry to tense ever so slightly, smile still fixed in place. He was ready to flick his wand into his hand with a twitch of his forearm. The stranger's hand emerged with a pack of cigarettes. Harry relaxed and still managed to maintain his smile even as the stranger lit up and blew a cloud of smoke in Harry's face.

_Stay cool, Potter. Don't start anything just because this guy is being a wanker_. Sweet Merlin, but he'd give Krum a run for his money in the Dark, Silent, and Intimidating category.

Just as Harry was about to transfigure the man's tobacco into dried horse dung, the man jerked his thumb in the direction across the street and through a side street.

"Yellow Flag," the man grunted. He had an odd guttural inflection that Harry supposed was Russian.

Harry thanked the man with the same amount of politeness as he had approached him and made his way to a two story building whose sign was lit up in neon yellow letters.

He stepped through the door without pausing, noting the assorted weaponry sitting on nearly every tabletop or snugly tucked behind a belt. The conversation dropped to a low murmur as people craned their heads to see who the newcomer was. Harry didn't miss a beat and kept walking until he reached the bar. He took a seat, placing his briefcase on the floor, on an open barstool between a white man with his own briefcase whose mustache seemed to be attempting to eat his face alive and a black man who wore sunglasses and olive green clothing that gave him a vaguely military air.

A girl's shrill giggle broke the spell of curiosity Harry had woven over the Yellow Flag's denizens and the chatter returned to normal volume.

The barkeep, an Asian man who seemed even shorter than Harry, was wiping a glass clean as he scowled at Harry.

"Whaddya want?" he snapped.

"Rum and coke." Harry laid a $50 dollar bill on the countertop. "Until this runs out or I've had enough."

The barkeep snatched the bill off of the countertop and hastily poured Harry a drink in the very same glass he'd been scrubbing. He set it down in front of Harry and raised his eyebrows as if daring Harry to say anything.

Harry shrugged. "Cheers." He downed the booze in two swallows, noting that it didn't even come close to being as smooth as Ambrosia. He'd gotten spoiled, it seemed.

The black man next to him chuckled, sunglasses glinting in the lamplight. "Bao, you asshole. You have plenty of clean glasses under the counter."

Bao smirked. "He drank it, didn't he? 'Sides, it was clean enough." He reached for Harry's glass and refilled it.

Harry glanced to his right. "Is he like that with everyone?"

"Mostly. Tried to pull the same shit over me when I first came here. He got me a clean glass after I suggested that having a grenade shoved up his ass would make him a better barkeep."

Harry chuckled and offered his hand, instantly liking the older man. "Harry Potter."

The other guy hesitated for a moment, as if sizing Harry up, and then took his hand, shaking it. "Name's Dutch. You're obviously new around here. What brings you to Roanapur?"

Harry slammed back another drink. "I haven't even been here an hour and already, someone's interrogating me. I can see why the tourists aren't fond of this city."

"Newcomers attract a lot of attention, for various reasons. Some want to know if you're a threat to their businesses. Others are no doubt planning to slit your throat and divest you of your cash the moment you set foot in the wrong place. And some people are simply curious."

Harry considered his third glass of booze, not in the least drunk due to a sleight of wand spell that transfigured the alcohol into grape juice. Though the mixture of coke and juice wasn't very palatable, it made him blend in much easier with the type of crowd that frequented these places without putting himself in danger by being drunk. This is where Harry's carefully crafted persona and story came into play. If he screwed this up, he could very well be fighting his way out of the city or worse, lose the trail of those he was hunting.

"I used to be one of the boys in blue back home. Ran afoul of some crooked cops in my district. They framed me for the murder of my partner and I've been running ever since." Harry spoke quickly and flatly, each word spitting from his mouth like a knife. He signaled for another refill of his glass.

"Sounds like a nasty business."

"It is." Harry was inwardly praying, as he always did when he spun his lies, that this man bought his story. If he didn't, Harry was willing to bet that by morning, there would not be a man or woman willing to talk to him. It was simply how these things work. "So tell me, where could I find a nice, quiet place to sleep-"

The doors to the entrance flew open in a thunderous crash of splintering wood.

"LISTEN UP, YOU FUCKING PIGS! WHERE THE FUCK IS THE GRINGO THAT STOLE FROM ME, LUPE THE COYOTE!?"

Harry, along with the other patrons of the bar, whirled around at the sudden commotion. In the background, he could hear Bao moan, "Not again for fuck's sake! I just finished remodeling!"

The Mexican standing in the ruined doorway was at least seven feet tall, eccentrically dressed like an American cowboy, and looking very pissed off as he cradled a shotgun in his arms.

The bar was dead silent.

The Mexican scanned the room, his cold, black eyes scanning each face. His gaze stopped at Harry, darted down to the briefcase at his feet, and then back up to his eyes.

"You done fucked up now, gringo. I'm gonna fuck you up for stealing from me."

Before Harry could so much as open his mouth, he found that he was staring down the merciless throat of a shotgun.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the majority of the bar's patrons, with the exception of Dutch who was still sitting calmly, sipping at his own drink, either make a break for the exit in the back or scramble behind overturned tables or the bar itself.

Well. Time to start earning his pay.

* * *

><p><strong>So, what do you think?<strong>


	2. An Englishman

**Undercover**  
>A Zephyrus Production <p>

**A/N:** And here is where I felt like my interest petered out. It has all sorts of fascinating potential as a story, but I never quite figured out what happens next. And yes, I will shamelessly admit that reviews help the creative process, if only to spur me on to write more. So if you liked this little drabble, review!

**Summary**: Tired of being a desk jockey and desperately searching for an assignment far away from his romantic troubles, Harry Potter takes an undercover assignment in Roanapur. There, he finds that life is short, violent, and ever so fun.

**Disclaimer:** I own neither Harry Potter nor Black Lagoon. Pity.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: An Englishman, A Mexican, and Italian Walk Into a Bar...Part 1 <strong>

Most job descriptions did not include staring down the barrel of a shotgun wielded by a crazy, giant, Mexican cowboy. As an Auror of his hard-earned rank, the most he had to deal with these days was the occasional upstart dark wizard and keeping an eye on the more unsavory practices in Knockturn Alley.

And yet there he was, hands raised in an attempt to look as nonthreatening as possible and beads of sweat rolling down his forehead that had nothing to do with the heat of the night.

"Well, motherfucker? You got any last words before I blow your fuckin' head off for stealing from me?"

On parchment, any wizard worth his salt could easily deal with a muggle and any firearm he foolishly decided to use against his magical counterpart. Reality is a far cry from parchment. If a wizard was victorious in surviving a face off with a muggle armed with a gun, it was assumed that said wizard had been alert, prepared, and had seen that muggle coming from miles away.

Even Voldemort wouldn't have survived if Harry had somehow managed to surprise him and shot the scaly bastard in the back.

In any case, Harry's options were quite limited in his current situation.

One: He could die.

Two: He could just be horribly maimed if he somehow managed to survive a shotgun to the face.

Three: He could beg for his life and attempt to curse the Mexican into oblivion if given the opportunity.

The first was out due to obvious reasons. The second was distinctly unappealing due to the equally low survival rate of option number one, in addition to Harry being fond of his dashing good looks. The third was distasteful, but survival trumps pride every single time in Harry's opinion.

"Mr. Lupe, I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about. I've only just arrived in Roanapur a short while ago."

The Mexican reached out with a booted foot and nudged the briefcase by Harry's stool. "Oh, is that so? Well, I guess some other _gringo_ musta put a hole in my little cousin's guts and made off with 7 bricks of **MY **coke in that briefcase."

Lupe stepped forward in one swift movement and jammed the butt of the shotgun into Harry's gut.

Air whooshed in a single hot breath from Harry's lungs and he felt bile surging up his throat. He cradled his hands protectively over his stomach and toppled from the barstool to the dirty floor, gasping and retching.

Distantly, he heard Lupe say, "Do you think I'm fuckin' stupid? **Huh**!?"

A boot slammed into Harry's side, forcing the bile that he had somehow managed to keep down to spew all over the floor and the front of his new suit. Harry's glasses were knocked askew with the blow and tears of pain welled up in his eyes. Dimly, he could see the figures of a few patrons scrambling for the front entrance, eager to escape the coming bloodbath.

Harry heard the sound of a round being pumped into the chamber of the shotgun. "Fuckin' moron. Give _Satanás_ my regards."

"Hey, Lupe." Dutch swung around in his seat and leaned up against the bar. "The kid's telling the truth."

Out of the corner of his watery eyes, Harry could see Lupe turn his head to regard Dutch. "The fuck you say, Dutch? This filthy _gringo_ is guilty. The briefcase is right there and I can smell the guilt on him."

"Check the briefcase first, Lupe. You don't want it getting out that you kill every white dude you come across just because he smells funny, do you? Shit, half the junkies in the city smell like they rolled in a pig sty. It's bad for business, my man."

Lupe eyed Dutch for a moment. He then jerked his head at the briefcase. "Fine. Never let it be said that the Coyote isn't unreasonable. Open it, Dutch."

Dutch leaned down and picked up the briefcase. He set it on the counter top and undid the latches. He flipped up the lid and his eyebrows rose along with it. He let out a low whistle and tilted the briefcase towards the Mexican so he could see.

The briefcase was lined with currencies from Britain, America, France, Germany, Russia, Japan, and Thailand. There had to have been at least a quarter of a million dollars in combined currencies, to both men's practiced eye.

Lupe licked his lips lightly, his eyes having taken on a greedy sheen. "Shiiiiiiiit, _gringo_. What kind of stupid fuck walks around with a briefcase full of moolah like that, eh?"

Dutch nodded his head in amazed agreement. "Can't believe the kid wasn't mugged the second he set foot on the island."

The Ministry had authorized Harry's use of that money in a variety of currencies, for him to transfigure as needed to suit whatever currency moved best in Roanapur. It had been expected to last him out the month for food, lodging, bribes, and transportation. The majority of the contents of the briefcase had been intended as a means of buying a ticket onto Red Aviary's roster.

While he had been a little nervous about carrying around that much cash on his person in a place like Roanapur, Harry had been perfectly confident in his ability not to be mugged on the street like some ignorant tourist. He should have been more wary about being mugged by rampaging drug dealers bent on revenge in bars.

Harry coughed lightly, wiping some drool and vomit from his lips on his sleeve. He eyed the barrel of the shotgun warily as he adjusted his glasses. Lupe was enough of a professional that he only let his weapon waver slightly when the contents of Harry's briefcase were revealed.

_If I can just get him to move a few more inches to the left, I think I can slip my wand out unnoticed..._

Harry's wand was nestled in its holster on his right forearm. A quick flick of his wrist and he'd be armed and deadly. He was pretty sure that any sudden movements on his part would be greeted with Lupe pumping him full of lead.

"Mr. Lupe, I'd be more than willing to give you that briefcase in order to clear up this little misunderstanding."

The Coyote threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Oh, you're going to give me all that money, eh?" The cold metal of the shotgun nudged Harry in the chin. "Why shouldn't I just blow your head off and take the money anyway?"

Harry shrugged nonchalantly as best he could. "It's like Dutch said. Do you want a reputation as a thief? Or someone who kills in a fit of greed? You'll scare off all of your customers."

"Kid's right, Lupe. Use your head," Dutch said over his shoulder, having gone back to his drink.

Lupe paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. He eyed the briefcase, humming in the back of his throat. Harry's life depended on how much a drug dealer valued his reputation with his customers. Harry was sure that there was something amusing about that, but he was hanged if he could find it.

A flash of motion caught Harry's eye and he slowly tilted his head to get a glimpse between Lupe's snakeskin boots. The mustachioed man that had been sitting to Harry's left before Lupe burst in was creeping out from behind the bar, briefcase clutched to his chest. He was very nearly to the hallway that lead to the exit in the back before one of his feet accidentally kicked an empty whiskey bottle, sending it clattering loudly across the floor.

With the shotgun never wavering, one of the Coyote's hands flashed to his hip, brushed aside his jacket, and smoothly drew out a Colt Peacemaker in what appeared to be one single motion. Harry was impressed, in spite of himself. The Coyote's appearance wasn't just for show, then.

The Peacemaker boomed once and a shower of wood splinters erupted from a fist sized crater in the door frame next to Mustache Man. He whirled around with a little shriek of terror, throwing his hands high in the air.

"DON'T-A SHOOT ME, FOR THE LOVE-A THE VIRGIN MARY!"

The briefcase the man had been holding tumbled to the dirty wooden floor, popping open open contact. Two bricks of a white powdery substance spilled from the briefcase and no doubt several more were hidden in the briefcase's depths.

Lupe's eyes went flat and cold at the sight of the bricks. Harry could see the cowboy's knuckles bleed to white with the force that he was gripping the Peacemaker. "I should have known it was you, Rafael, you fuckin' dago. Hector was always complaining about how you were late with your payments."

Rafael, apparently an Italian, grinned nervously and started to slowly lower his head. "Hey Lupe, it'sa me! Do I look like-a the kinda guy that would shoot your cou-"

Another clap of thunder boomed and the gangly looking Italian shrieked again as he was showered in more wooden splinters. Harry was sure he heard Bao sighing loudly behind the bar.

"Looks like we found your thief, Lupe." Dutch commented, still calmly sipping his drink.

_What the bloody hell is wrong with that man? Doesn't he have a sense of self-preservation?!_

Harry could only heave a sigh of relief. Lupe would dispense justice on the thief and leave in peace with his drugs, and Harry could give thanks that he hadn't pissed himself in fear.

"Yeah Dutch, I guess we did." Lupe's eyes darted from the drugs and to Harry's briefcase of money. "But you know, today must be my lucky day, eh? I get to avenge Hector's death, retrieve my stolen goods, and get a bonus to boot."

Harry groaned pitifully and banged his head against the floor. The sound drew Lupe's attention.

"Listen _gringo_, no hard feelings, eh? I just got a little overexcited because of Hector. He was like a brother to me, you know?"

Harry couldn't very well argue with a shotgun in his face so he just nodded woodenly. "No hard feelings. Sure."

"Anyways, I'll be taking that money with me. Think of it as payment for me not blowing your head off."

Harry nodded yet again, too pissed off to say anything. All he had to do was wait until the cowboy's back was turned. Harry's wand hand twitched slightly in eagerness at the payback to come.

Two loud clicks reverberated in the room as two hammers were simultaneously cocked. Lupe stiffened, a look of dread morphing onto his face.

"Who the fuck are you and what the fuck is going on?"

Harry dared to shift his head upwards. Standing to Lupe's side and almost cradling Harry's head between her combat boots was a diminutive, fierce-looking Asian woman armed with two ridiculously large handguns, dressed in a black tank top and daisy dukes, and a sneer of annoyance on her face.

The twin barrels of the guns were aimed directly at Lupe's head.

"Goddammit, Revy. You have really shitty timing." Dutch's tone was obviously exasperated.

Harry did some quick thinking. Dutch knew this woman. This woman had Lupe at her mercy. It was probably safe to trust her.

"Ah, miss?"

The woman's gaze darted down at Harry, eyes narrowed. "Who the fuck are you?"

"My name is Harry Potter and I will pay you fifty thousand dollars to remove Mr. Lupe's weapon from my face."

The woman's face went from boredly pissed to wolfishly joyful. Baring her teeth in a wicked smile, she said, "Sure thing, boss."

Bao yelled in the background, "You stupid motherfu-"

Harry's world exploded in a roar of gunpowder.


End file.
